


Where Do We Go From Here?

by A_M_Kelley



Category: Justified
Genre: Banter, Bromance, Dirty Jokes (sorta), Drinking Games, Drunken Confessions, Flirting, Humor if you squint long enough, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sarcasm, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 11:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11827623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_M_Kelley/pseuds/A_M_Kelley
Summary: Tim and Raylan get drunk and decide to play fuck, marry, kill. Banter and sexual tension ensues.





	Where Do We Go From Here?

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly rated mature for language and suggestive dialogue.

“Fuck, marry, kill.”

“Oh, Christ, not this again…” Tim groans as he takes another swig of his beer.

He’s five shots of whiskey and seven beers in when Raylan decides it’s time to play a game. Tim never likes playing these stupid games when he’s drunk because he’s always afraid of making a fool of himself, but he humors Raylan because the man is also equally drunk and he’s bored with swapping stories of folks he’s shot. Plus, the booth they’re seated at is pretty secluded from the rest of the bar.

“No, no, no! I’ll make it interesting this time,” Raylan promises with a big grin. “Fuck, marry, kill. Your options are Dewey Crowe, Dickie Bennett, and Devil.”

“The three dumb D’s of the deep south, huh? You sure know how to tempt a guy,” Tim says with heavy sarcasm. Even when he’s shitfaced he still has the capacity to be a sassy bitch.

“Come on,” Raylan begs, nudging Tim playfully with his shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”

“Of all the people--”

“It’s just a hypothetical,” Raylan defends, putting his hands up as Tim looks at him skeptically with a raised brow.

“A pretty shitty one,” Tim mumbles under his breath.

“I said it’d be interestin’. Never said it was a good one,” Raylan adds, downing another shot with a pinched expression.

“By all means, don’t over sell it,” Tim mocks with a sigh, finishing the rest of his beer.

“I’ll pick up your tab if you’ll just humor me for a moment,” Raylan offers as an incentive and it works judging by the approving gaze of Tim.

“Promise?”

Raylan shrugs.

“Alright, gimme a second,” Tim relents, staring off into the distance as he thinks it over. He throws back a shot of whiskey when Raylan offers it to him and winces. “First of all, I'd kill Dewey just to get that outta the way.”

“Any particular reason?” Raylan inquires.

“He’s a dumb, twitchy son of a bitch and I don’t wanna imagine my dick anywhere near him,” Tim answers honestly without batting an eye.

“Fair enough,” Raylan says.

“That being said, I’d probably fuck Dickie,” Tim slurs slightly.

“Really?” Raylan replies, reeling back slightly as if he’s almost surprised with Tim’s answer.

“I will admit he’s kinda cute in his own scrawny, pathetic way,” Tim gushes, blushing a little when he catches Raylan judging him with that stupid smirk of his. “Think of it as me givin’ the sad little bastard a pity fuck.”

“Aw, that’s awfully generous of you,” Raylan praises in jest.

“I know, I'm a sweetheart,” Tim quips sardonically.

He gives Raylan a look like he’s just _so done_ with his colleague’s bullshit, but he has to hand it to Raylan for being able to keep up with his dry wit. Tim likes having people around that can spar with him back and forth without them getting offended. Raylan may act like an eighth grader half the time, but that was part of his appeal, actually.

“So, you’d marry Devil, then?” Raylan surmises.

“Oh, yeah,” Tim affirms and there’s no hesitation in his decision at all. “I figure Devil is probably the smartest out of them.”

“And that’s motive enough to marry him?” Raylan asks curiously, gauging Tim’s resolve.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind fuckin’ him on a regular basis,” Tim admits, smirking when he notices Raylan go pale slightly. He bites his bottom lip in a teasing manner at the sight of Raylan flushing. “But to be fair, you don’t leave me with many options.”

“I’ll give you an easier one,” Raylan suggests. “Me, Rachel, and Art.”

“ _That’s_ easier,” Tim complains and he’s so blitzed that he hardly realizes he’s leaning into Raylan for support.

“It’s the best I got right now.”

“Definitely marrying Rachel straight away,” Tim discloses as if he’s being put on the record. “You and I both know what happens when people get married to _you_. No offense.”

“None taken. Rachel’s a good choice,” Raylan concurs, amused by Tim’s need to clarify his reasoning. “Now you just gotta pick who you’d fuck and kill.”

“Is killing myself an option?” Tim deadpans, sparing a pitiful glance in Raylan’s direction.

It’s become apparent just how close he is to Raylan now, but the warm, fuzzy feeling buzzing around in his head makes him throw caution to the wind. Raylan isn’t showing any signs of discomfort or looking like he wants Tim out of his personal space, so Tim stays put.

“I'm afraid not.”

“Art isn’t exactly _my type_ , but he probably wouldn’t look too kindly on me trying to kill him. I mean, I guess I could snipe him from afar…”

“So, what’s your answer?” Raylan presses. He’s too eager and curious to see what Tim will say.

“What about you? Who would you fuck, marry, kill?” Tim deflects when he notices Raylan’s impatience. “You haven’t participated once.”

“You haven’t asked me,” Raylan points out.

“Me, Rachel, Art. Go!” Tim fires back.

“You can’t use my own hypothetical against me,” Raylan accuses, feeling particularly flustered now that Tim was onto him.

“I can, I am, and most certainly will!” Tim declares. “So what’ll it be?”

“Well, you made a valid point earlier. I ain’t exactly the marryin’ type and something tells me if I tried to kill any one of you, you’d kick my ass,” Raylan stalls, earning him an amused _ha!_ from his drunken colleague.

“You won’t marry anyone and you’ve assumed that we’d all just kill _you_ before you could get to _us_ ,” Tim deduces, slowly working his way to some sort of epiphany through his inebriated state. “So the question remains, who would you _fuck_?”

Even though Tim is wasted by this point, he’s still pretty keen enough to notice when Raylan is trying to disguise his flirtation by talking in vague hyperbole. He has to admit, it _is_ a pretty fun way to flirt with someone. Exchanging banter always gets his blood pumping and skin feverish. He likes pushing buttons he knows can get away with and Raylan pushes right back.

“Fucking Art would be like fucking my dad, so no thank you. Rachel is very pretty, but she’d never go for it seeing as how she could do better than me. Which leaves only one _real_ choice…”

“What are you trying to say, Raylan? That I'm easy?” Tim accuses, but it’s said with such a hooded expression that it’s practically foreplay by now.

“If that were the case, I’d already have you in my bed,” Raylan states and he can tell Tim’s amused by the pleased smirk he gets.

“True, but who's to say I’d wanna go to bed with you?” Tim challenges, letting his fingers dance over the neck of a beer bottle.

“You’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d hop into bed with Dickie Bennett and Devil without a second thought, so I'm assuming that rates my odds in my favor,” Raylan speculates.

“Maybe I just have a hard on for the shallow end of the gene pool,” Tim quips, bringing out that sass once again to push Raylan’s buttons. “All these one tooth havin’, cousin fuckers just gets me painfully erect.”

“You know, I can never tell when you’re being serious or sarcastic,” Raylan jokes.

Tim hums, thoroughly pleased with himself as their knees bump under the table. The answer is so obvious by now, but they're both enjoying the way the alcohol buzzes through them as they anticipate what the other will say next. It’s not like this is the first time they’ve flirted like this. There was plenty of stolen moments that were barely veiled by sarcasm that it was basically the worst kept secret around the office.

“I often ask myself the same question,” Tim responds with a low rumble. He takes a drink of his beer, letting his lips linger on the tip of the bottle.

“So what happens now?” Raylan feels compelled to ask as he follows Tim’s languid movements.

“You tell me, cowboy,” Tim insists, bumping into Raylan in a good-natured manner. “You wanna play the game or just keep dancin’ around this?”

“I was never much of a dancer myself considering I have two left feet,” Raylan postulates, making Tim’s mouth pull to one side.

“I, too, suffer from the same affliction,” Tim reveals, placing a hand that doesn't quite reach Raylan on the tabletop.

“I guess that settles it then,” Raylan announces as he takes one last drink of his beer and slides out of the booth. He holds a hand out towards his colleague, swaying slightly from a headrush. “Unless I'm mistaken?”

“You know what, Raylan?” Tim says as he takes the hand offered to him. “For once, you’re not a complete idiot.”

Raylan smirks, shaking his head as Tim grabs his coat and practically drags him towards the nearest exit.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”


End file.
